


Rain in the Scotch Bottle

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Fluff and Angst, I don't know, Jon's dad is an ass, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Gore, Past Child Abuse, bleghh, does it count as gore?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 05:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19823563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: “You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering.” - Ernest HemingwayIn which Jon is emotionally stunted, Edwin is anxious, and I continue to project my own problems.





	Rain in the Scotch Bottle

He has been sitting out there for hours now. He’d opened the scotch an hour before that. It started raining half an hour after he stepped outside. Edwin watches him from the sliding glass door to the balcony, worry lines all across his usually bright face. Jonathan sits there, empty bottle in one hand, glasses in the other, soggy cigarette somehow clinging to his lips as he stares off at nothing in particular. He’d tried to get him to come inside when the rain came, of course he had, but Jonathan won’t even respond to Craw croaking at him. It isn’t that he denied Edwin or waved him off, but he just _won’t respond_. It’s like he’s in shock. From _what_ he couldn’t be sure as the other rogue hadn’t been talking much at all recently, even before this.

With a forlorn sigh, Edwin tries again, calling, “Jonathan? It’s 48 degrees outside, you really should come in.”

No response.

“You’re out of scotch, _Honigbär_ ,” Edwin observes.

Nothing.

“I could get you a cup of tea instead,” Edwin bargains.

Still nothing.

“If something’s happened, you know you can tell me,” Edwin all but pleads.

Not a sound.

Watching the rain drip down the side of his face for a moment more, Edwin shakes his head and returns back inside, hovering around the door as he paces back and forth. His thoughts trail behind him like smoke from a factory fire. Jonathan was gone for an unusually long time this go around, but he didn’t show any of the usual signs of Arkham or some other abduction, thank God. Maybe he’s frustrated with some equation? No, he’s too impassive to be cross. Could he have a concussion? He doesn’t necessarily have to be visibly hurt for that to be the case, though Jonathan doesn’t seem completely blank enough for that… Could he have been poisoned? No, be reasonable, Edwin… Hell, he could just be _exhausted_ , but- But he could say something about that…

Growing exasperated with himself and the situation as a whole, he moves through their apartment, gathering some towels from the bathroom and their larger umbrella from the stand by the front door. Carrying the towels under the arm holding up the umbrella, he drags one of the wicker chairs on the balcony over to Jonathan’s, setting the towels on the seat and back. He keeps one to wrap around Jonathan, taking the scotch bottle from him as he does so. He takes care to hold the umbrella over both of them, placing his hand over Jonathan’s free one and lacing their fingers together. If he won’t come inside, then Edwin very well will just-

“It’s all so damn much.” The whisper is barely audible over the rain, his lips having hardly moved.

“What…?” Edwin asks, confused but desperate to keep him talking.

“All of it,” Jonathan says, slightly louder. He moves for the first time in what feels like years, turning his head towards Edwin with an expression of gaunt, weary sorrow. The poor man really _does_ look almost twice his age like that. He opens his mouth again, leaving it hanging open for a moment before lamely adding, “everything. It’s just…”

He looks as if he’ll continue speaking, even just with words absently strewn together, but he only half heartedly spits the useless cigarette out. His icy blue eyes stare at the spot where it landed on the ground, assuming what it must look like more than really being able to tell for himself. Catching that look in Jonathan’s eye, Edwin reaches his hand out to touch his cheek, gently turning him back to face him again. They stay like that for a moment more, Edwin gently rubbing his thumb against a faint scar over Jonathan’s cheekbone, the somehow younger man dropping his glasses to press his hand over the other’s. The cold clack of the frames hitting the stone floor coincides with blue eyes fluttering closed.

Speaking of his own accord again, Jonathan mumbles, “I can smell it again.”

Edwin can’t help but gasp slightly, hardly able to be heard. He remembers a vague mention of _it_ , something having to do with his father Gerald and the likeness of pork to burning flesh. Edwin knew better than to push anything involving his family. Either side.

Hanging his head slightly, Jonathan moves Edwin’s hand to press against his lips as he adds, “I didn’t want to do it…”

“Do what, _Liebling_?” Edwin asks quietly.

Jonathan opens his eyes again and looks away, before snapping them shut once more, long eyelashes brushing against Edwin’s fingers. The corner of his mouth twitches in that tell tale way that means he’s looking for the right words.

Using his other hand to brush back Jonathan’s soaked hair, Edwin gently says, “you know I won’t think anything less of you.”

The statement of reassurances only seems to make him that much more apprehensive, attempting to turn his face away again, though he’s gently held in place.

Bringing his hand up to kiss, Edwin says, “please, J. Talk to me.”

Hesitating as he looks for something to stall with, Jonathan admits, “I’d like to go inside now.”

With a sigh that speaks more to exhaustion than annoyance, Edwin gives him a tired smile and stands up, trying in vain to hold the umbrella up high enough for the considerably taller man to stand under. Fortunately it isn't far to the door, nor to their couch from there. Jonathan hardly hits the cushion before his long arms wrap around Edwin, pulling him down with him and resting his head against his shoulder. Either an attempt of conveying more difficult emotions or putting off addressing the matter at hand, but Edwin decides it doesn't matter as he gently places his hand against Jonathan’s head and the other in the small of his back. This obviously isn't something he knows how to talk about, and he knows forcing him to speak is the quickest way to get him to shut down completely. Instead, he lets Jonathan lean against him, all but hiding his face in his shirt, albeit somewhat surprised at the amount of voluntary physical contact. A moment passes as Edwin listens to Jonathan's breathing, low and slightly uneven, almost as unsure as the words it might carry. In that moment, Edwin is simply thankful he isn't out in the rain anymore.

"They were kids," Jonathan interrupts the silence softly, so soft it could hardly be considered an interruption. " _Kids_. I was a kid. We didn't- I didn't know what he- Christ, he must have-"

"Sh, slow down," Edwin soothes, catching the stutter in Jonathan's breathing. "One thought at a time, _Honigbär_."

"I-" Edwin feels Jonathan struggle for a steady breath, his thin chest sputtering against his. He feels those long eyelashes brush against his jaw as he says, "I hate that I still can't get rid of him. He's _dead_ , for all I know, yet…"

No pang of jealousy sounds in Edwin's heart as he hears these bitter words, knowing immediately who Jonathan means by the seething venom reserved specifically for blood. Of course, he knows he needn't be jealous to begin with. The weary man is one of the most trustworthy he's ever met. Edwin only wishes he could convince Jonathan of that, among other things…

"It's been more than 20 years since I was in that cage," Jonathan grumbles. "I shouldn't be so damn- So-" Unable to find the words yet again, Jonathan huffs into the soft fabric of Edwin's shirt.

Thinking for a moment, gently dragging his fingers through Jonathan's hair, Edwin offers, "you're worried you're becoming your father."

No reply. Not verbally, at least. Jonathan shifts, pulling Edwin tighter against him, his shoulders hunching slightly. He's right, and he's wanted to admit it, but he needed someone else to say it first. Not that he could even begin to put that on someone.

"You're not," Edwin states simply.

Jonathan makes an odd noise he recognizes as a scoff.

"Really," Edwin continues. "You have _morality_ , for one thing. And last I checked, you weren't very keen on locking your son in a dog kennel."

Another, less defined scoff.

Petting the back of Jonathan's head, he furthers, "you're a good man, Jon. I know you can't believe me, but… But it's true. I've known worse people, worse than your- Worse than them. I've met good people as well. You fit more with the latter, dear, really. You are the single kindest, bravest, most steadfast person I know. I trust you more than I trust myself. I know you know that already, and it _scares_ you to know that, but- Jon?"

The hand tightening around the fabric on his back leads Edwin to stop his emotional speech of support. There isn't a single reply to his call, in any form. Panic stirs in the back of his mind as Edwin lifts Jonathan's head to look at his face, equally relieved and confused to see an expression of distant weariness. He pulls him close again, setting his head against his chest and his own hand upon his lower back. He doesn't want to make Jonathan cry, but he also knows it'll only make things worse if he bottles this up like everything else. He probably already had.

"What were your parents like?" Jonathan asks. "Together, I mean."

Oh. "They were… Happy, at some point I suppose. They must have been. They didn't exactly need the financial safety net of marriage…" Edwin chuckles slightly, more so to himself. "Sharon wasn't always… I vaguely remember her genuinely laughing once or twice, smiling at something my father said or did. I like to think she started getting… _Like that_ after he died, but… I was old enough to remember then."

"…I went by again," Jonathan admits like a sin.

"To try talking to Karen?" Edwin asks hopefully.

"And to see if they needed anything," he says with a tone that implies the "and" isn't entirely truthful.

"Oh, Jon," Edwin sighs, "we've already given them an apartment, a car, and a tutor that you investigated and approved yourself for your sister."

"I know, but…" Jonathan attempts to protest.

"I understand that you feel like you need to repay them for what happened, but you don't," Edwin affirms.

"She's my mother," Jonathan finishes his thought.

Seeing the futility in arguing with him, Edwin sighs and gently runs his hand through Jonathan's hair. The taller man exhales slightly through his nose, burying his face against Edwin's chest again as he readjusts his arms around him. Beginning to gently play with Jonathan's hair, Edwin lets the companionable silence hang as he contemplates what seems to be the problem, weighing his options and picking apart ideas. He's no master strategist, but he doubts he really needs to be to help.

"What if," he suggests slowly, "I went with you to talk with Karen?"

He can practically hear the surprise in the silence's return, Jonathan adjusting enough to give him a look from his right eye, the one that would better see him up close.

"Why?" he asks simply.

"I didn't know if having someone with you would help," Edwin explains. Noticing the slight edge in his question only after, he adds, "not that I intend to talk you out of it, dear. I just know you should talk to her."

The indignant thorns retreating, Jonathan looks at Edwin for a moment more before laying his head down again, tucking it under Edwin's chin. He worries he may have made the problem worse with that offer, doing his best to hide that fear from his body language. Jonathan would know immediately, which would only make him feel worse, which would make Edwin more anxious-

"I think it might be worth a try," Jonathan finally says, curling his body a little closer to Edwin's.

"Oh," Edwin says quietly. Fixing himself, he quickly adds, "that's good."

Jonathan grunts in response, closing his eyes once more. He allows himself a small, tired smile against his lover's shoulder as he says, "later, though. You're not getting up."

A question this time, Edwin attempts to sit up, asking "oh?"

"Mhm." Jonathan shifts more of his weight onto Edwin, keeping him pinned as he readjusted his arms around him, tucking his hands between Edwin and the cushion.

Laughing slightly, Edwin rubs Jonathan's back, not putting up much of a fight as he's stuck on his. He does, however, gently lift Jonathan's chin up to sweetly kiss his lips.

"I love you," he smiles, brushing a piece of hair from his face and running his fingers against his cheek.

Hesitating, not from cold feet, he opens his mouth before quietly echoing, "I love you…"

Kissing him again, Edwin holds his forehead against Jonathan's for a moment before letting him rest his head atop his chest again, reclining his own against the pillow on the couch. Such genuine displays of emotion always frightened Jonathan, but it's more important in the moment to remind him that he _really_ does love him, true and unconditionally. Every part of him, whether he's sad, mad, or just grumpy. Judging by how quickly he's fallen asleep next to him, legs tangled with his own, he may be starting to believe him.


End file.
